(ADULT CONTENT) How will two student friends influence each other in their pursuit of pleasure?

“Fuck that. There's no way, no way you'd find me doing that. Are you
feeling alright? There's just no way I could devote the rest of my life
to getting fucked by the same cock. I mean one cock, one fucking cock
for the rest of your life? No fucking way”. “But he's sweet, and a
high-ranking member of the Knight's of the holy kingdom”. “The what?
What the fuck? Who cares that he's so high up? You, obviously. You've
only known him for two weeks, and you're getting married to the cunt”.
“Don't call him that. He's lovely” “He's fucking with your head.
Typical fucking religious nutter. Ah, I know why you're getting married
so early. You want your first taste of cock don't you? I know you're a
virgin. If you'd have had cock I'd have been the first one you'd tell.
I mean I've only known you for 16 years, and you are my best friend
Linda, but for fuck's-sake think about what you're doing, getting
involved with some balloon you hardly know. I mean who the fuck these
days waits to get married before they have sex? What if he can't get it
up? What if it's only three inches?” Linda stood up, her face trying to
withhold her brewing emotional turmoil which was approaching tears, so
before they came, she decided she would no longer stay with Catherine
Fischer, two years older than her twenty years. “I love him Cath. I
really love him. I'm gonna spend the rest of my life with him. You'll
see that love conquers lust. You'll see”. “Love conquers lust. Is that
what your religious psycho has told you? Don't get brainwashed Linda.
You may be thick and naïve, but I don't want to see you get hurt.
Especially not to some limp-dicked priest”. Linda Marsh turned and
stormed away, Catherine shaking her head at her as she left the college
library.
‘Marriage', she muttered. ‘Not for me'. Catherine and Linda were
students of Art and design in London, neither of them clear as yet as
to what they wanted to do with their lives. They were content with
simply living off their grants. Catherine usually wore clothes more
akin to males than women. Her hair was fairly short, but she did not
look masculine, and the clothes were bought in the women's clothing
sections, but men were mostly the focus of her attention. She had other
friends who were of similar persuasion, knowing they could use their
femininity to wrap slavering men whose cocks did their thinking for
them around their little fingers and have them literally begging. Yet
Catherine took things further. She loved men. Or more precisely, cock.
In the five years she had been having sex, she had had 83 different men,
of all persuasions and creeds, and she showed no signs of stopping.
Husbands and boyfriends to her meant being restricted, tied down to one
person. She wondered if that was natural. Why does the other half get
upset when the other has an affair? or looks at another person
sexually? Surely it was human instinct, and suddenly it was expected to
stop and all carnal focus to be on them when they became an item. What
was marriage anyway? Catherine thought, a declaration to friends and
family of their love for each other, a gold ring on the finger, and
some privileges at the bank. That was it as far as she was concerned.
It was pointless. I'm not getting tied down. Fuck that. I'm not
prepared to spend the rest of my life having sex with the same person
for the rest of my days.
It was the same she thought with simple boy/girlfriend relationships.
What was a date other than in interview? an interview by the woman as
to whether or not she was going to allow him ‘in'. It was simply a
‘getting to know you' activity in which ice was melted, the further
implications of which was ‘OK, I now know you well enough to let you
have sex with me, but do I want to spend the rest of my life with you?
Do I want to spend a substantial amount of time as a girlfriend? Will
he focus all his sexual activity on me?' and ‘What will I do if he
doesn't?'
She had only ever been on one date, and had one boyfriend for three
weeks, until she realised he wasn't satisfying her, so found fulfilment
elsewhere, leaving her other half crying in a gymnasium car-park. From
then on, it was penis city, cock valley. The most men she had had at
once was six, and she was giving serious consideration to going into
porn. The thought of somebody somewhere watching her and masturbating
turned her on.
She didn't care for the men's feelings. All she wanted was sexual
contentment, and most men she had been with had given her that. Some
were losers, others were worth seeing again. It didn't bother her who
the man was, she cared more for his genitalia. As she sometimes said to
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